


Thirty Steps

by levitatethis



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-17
Updated: 2010-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 12:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mohinder has a small amount of time to himself to reflect on how he got here and what it all means</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirty Steps

“Sternly, remorselessly, fate guides each of us; only at the beginning, when we’re absorbed in details, in all sorts of nonsense, in ourselves, are we unaware of its harsh hand.”   
**\- Ivan Turgenev   
**  
The distance from the motel room to the rental car in the middle of the half empty parking lot is hardly worth noting except for the time it allows Mohinder to have to himself, hovering in a brief limbo—purgatory he scoffs—in which his thoughts wrestle about.

It is a crisp morning, not so cold as to need a lined jacket and not so warm as to be comfortable in a lightweight long-sleeved shirt. An early fall paints the trees the colour of a burning inferno and it crosses his mind that he does not dwell on the distant past so much anymore. In fact, like discarded clothes from the previous season, the distant past resides in tightly packed quarters set aside, always there as an obscure reference to what was, only to be pulled out on the nostalgic remembrance of déjà vu.

Those remembrances have grown more infrequent and though they still hold a place in him he no longer feels like the person who once wore them so casually.

A tired yawn pulls free from his lips and a slight shudder shakes his shoulders as his waking state bids goodbye to the last remnants of the previous nights sleep. A good nights rest is something he has unexpectedly become accustomed to. For years it had seemed little more than a wishful thought and then one restful night turned into two, then three and soon it was the nights he tossed and turned that became the rare ones he could count on one hand.

Mohinder does not like admitting it but his mind and body self-adjustment came after he left New York, after he made the heart-aching decision to let Molly go and try for the normal life he knew he could never give her. It had been the right choice and Molly, now in the middle of her second year of high school, had reaped all the benefits of the roughly fought battle of words that nearly destroyed any friendship between Mohinder and Matt.

Good intentions had accidentally fallen by the wayside of harshly delivered excuses and defensively uttered accusations. Getting worse before it got better, Mohinder had understood Matt’s reasons for wanting to move Molly away from what New York conjured up but it was the way Matt argued his case that rankled Mohinder’s pride and stubborn streak.

Alongside his condescending authority Mohinder still recalls the hint of jealousy in Matt’s tone when Molly fitfully defended him. Without meaning to, a tug of war, with Molly in the middle unintentionally jumping from side to side, had broken out—but it did not derail them and in the end they had ended up in the right lives.

On long stretches of travel Mohinder finds meditation in writing Molly letters detailing the cities he has visited, the sites he has seen, the people he has met. His letters read as conversations in which he can hear her awed questions and giggling reactions. Distance does not lessen the personal bond that the letters represent.

Although she is unable to write back, Mohinder’s necessary lack of a permanent home address renders it impossible, their bi-weekly phone conversations, initiated from his untraceable pre-paid cellphone, remind them that the world can always be shrunk down to fit just the two of them.

Her non-judgmental voice proved a nice contrast to Matt’s well meaning, but still rude, one. Forced conversation strained tight words between Mohinder and Matt except when the topic was Molly’s academic and social life or fieldwork tactics. Otherwise “How are you?” was the most personal they got, distant but sincere as they still shared a care for what mattered to them both. They are the contextual realization that alliances are not all formed from undying loyalty. It seems a frigid acknowledgment but there is nothing disingenuous behind their actions.

Breathing in the crackling air Mohinder listens to the scrape of his shoe heels along the graveled pavement. Over the years this life that he has chosen has transformed him into a traveler of many names. At first destinations carried distinct markers, but as missions piled on, one after the other, the differences blended together. He makes a conscious effort to note unique qualities, to remind him that there is still a fully functioning world unfolding around him, blind to his increasingly covert behaviour.

Viewing the world through the eyes of someone who has, for all intents and purposes, vanished into the wind is both a frightening and liberating experience. On the one hand Mohinder must constantly watch his steps for what to draw on in any given circumstance without asking for unwanted attention. On the other hand not being so obviously tied to the life before this allows Mohinder the opportunity to step off the expected path, to explore what he once would have questioned himself more severely on. There was a time he held himself to different standards. That now belongs to another life.

Yet from that past life sprung forward fervent relationships that would survive the tests of restructuring worlds. Mohinder ponders where Peter is somewhere out in the universe. It has been a month since their last contact, which means they are fast approaching the point of paralyzing panic.

Over the years Peter and Hiro have been jumping through time and space, separately exploring all the consequences of actions put into place in the never-ending attempts to right potentially catastrophic wrongs. But every move, each altered action, sets into motion an entirely new set of ramifications that need to be investigated and interrogated and precisely dealt with in a timely fashion.

Peter’s prolonged absence carries without the nagging worry that something from the last set of agreed upon orders of action has gone terribly wrong. As much as Mohinder would be thankful to see Hiro (and there is a strange sense of pride in being smiled upon and respected by someone for a defiant “world saving” decision made in a future that likely no longer exists) it would come at a price, the loss—disappearance—of Peter, that Mohinder would never wish to pay.

Mohinder gives little thought to his first meeting with Peter, a case of bad timing and unready attitudes if he is honest. Those long ago days are best left to the self-doubt reflections of lonely nights. It took time, though not as much as either of them initially thought would be needed, but Mohinder and Peter found their reconnection in comparative hope and the belief that they could, and should, do what was necessary and in their powers to better the world.

Within the goal oriented working relationship a friendship was born as they both filled a necessary position for the other. In Peter, Mohinder found someone who shared his (broken but still present) idealism. In Mohinder, Peter found someone who believed in him enough to call him out when he crossed the line or did not rise up to expectations.

Timing was everything. Their reconnect had as much to do with the first few mishandled opportunities as it did with the mutual void they both came to be stuck in. Nathan’s public assassination while he stood on the brink of the yet unspoiled future had turned Peter inside out. The only voice, the persistent chattering that got through Peter’s soundproof walls, was Mohinder’s. For his own part, Mohinder’s regular visits to Peter’s side had been a self-absorbed act of penance upon hitting rock bottom. His dyslexic redirect found him reaching out to the first mistake, as if setting that on track would rewrite the timeline that followed.

They never got that chance, but all the other unknown futures became fair game, subject to their whims and beliefs. Even with others doing their part in carrying out planned attacks there is camaraderie between them that is untouchable. Whether based in the grief of prior losses or the willingness to see the flaws in each other as tests to pass and learn from, Mohinder counts on Peter and the strengths and weaknesses of his, at times, tunnel vision convictions.

Friend. Mohinder has so few but Peter is undoubtedly one. The thought alone induces a calm in Mohinder in the darkest of times, many of which have been visited upon them over the span of tumultuous years.

Although his life disallows, or at the very least makes difficult, the true closeness that is written about and quoted the world over across generations of time, Mohinder does boast an array of acquaintances. The slightly less involved nature of those relationships does not preclude Mohinder’s feelings from becoming inextricably entwined with those other lives.

Mohinder shifts the strap of his shoulder bag as he feels the initial ache of the awkwardly pressing leather into this skin. Jingling the car keys in his hand, feeling the sharp jagged edges under smooth fingertips scarred by old paper cuts, he is reminded of Niki. Even though her disfigurement had nothing to do with him the awareness that he was on his way to her when everything went to hell still scrapes at his skin like a warning.

Whenever he checks in on her, living with Monica and Micah, to set up monthly check ups (he breathes a sigh of relief that her survival of the fire meant he was still able to inject her with the cure although, for reasons he still cannot understand, the delay in time meant the virus was killed off but her brutally damaged skin remained) he is reminded of everything that is still out of their control no matter what precautions they think they are taking.

Seeing Niki thrusts a wave of guilt on Mohinder for not being able to help her even now. Still, she does not show him her disappointment. He reads that in Micah’s put upon smile and Monica’s brave face. He knows they see the same thing in his own guarded expression.

Yet they all move on increasingly accepting the unfortunate consequences that lurk at every corner. Each return that Hiro and Peter make brings with it new orders and another fork in the road. They do the best they can; Niki is a powerhouse of volatile strength and cunning quick thinking that symbolically balances out the rippled skin on top. Silently it says not to give up in the face of no return. Not that he would, but he could always use a kick in the ass.

Truth be told he likes talking with Niki even if their conversations are tempered with personal barriers. In some ways she has come to replace the confidante that Maya had been to him all those years before. With Maya he found the surprising ability to talk to her about very personal things than with most others. There was a warm openness to her character and it unlocked a box of guarded wonderings, much stemming from past, that he had not realized he needed to unburden himself of.

In their alliance she found her purpose and rediscovered waning strength. Forced to control herself, to spare those she needed to trust, Maya had become an intricate part of Peter and Hiro’s plans. The time had then come when she stepped out on her own to help them all as best as she could. Mohinder had been privy to all her self-reflection as she shared her wants and concerns. Letting go had been difficult for both, knowing that their conversations would become infrequent relics of the past. They still touch base but it is so random an occurrence that something seems lost in the actions as if the literal distance has stretched into the metaphorical and taken claim.

Mohinder throws a quick glance over his shoulder, back towards the motel entrance. On the other side of the lobby window he sees the front desk clerk watching him. The moment their eyes register the mutual acknowledgement the clerk quickly turns away, looking at the grainy image playing on the television sitting on the counter behind the desk. Mohinder’s surprised curiosity displays itself on his face with a creased brow and quizzical eyes as he turns his attention to the parking lot.

In rapid succession he takes in the handful of parked cars. He wonders about the other occupants of the roadside motel, caught in a no man’s land between any points of interest. Maybe that isolation is exactly why those people are here; it is easier to keep secrets particularly those that would bring down the walls of their worlds.

Maybe he had unintentionally chosen this establishment for the same reason. Or maybe the location is as telling as the cars. What does a blue Chevy with a busted right taillight say about the person in room #12? How about a station wagon with stickers from Disney World along the back? What story do those details spell out about the people in room #17? A pristine Accura, a muddied Harley Davidson, a Camerro that has seen much better days—and what about his own inconspicuous rental choice of a Toyota? Basic enough and unintentionally unassuming, did it reflect him as a match or an opposite?

Bennet would warn him about appearances. A misread is potentially explosive, a precise one can be extremely beneficial, and heart wrenching. Bennet learned that the hard way and his strained familial relationships, lack of friends and “all work and no play suit me just fine,” attitude became the cross he bore diligently.

Mohinder still does not think much of him as a leader or partner (he has vocally expressed this displeasure more than once that the man is only fit to be a rogue soldier) and in Bennet’s actions and in the life he made for himself Mohinder saw what he did not want his own life to turn into. There is a protective chill that bothers Mohinder, maybe naively believing he can still have a life and work against The Company and those who manifested from the madness at its side.

He likes to think he still has choices before him and that he can still have something to himself. He does not need to hear Bennet’s derisive laugh now to know his hopes are met with the condescension of someone who has been through all of this before. But he refuses to stop believing that his path is different from Bennet’s and so may the outcome be. Or maybe the mistakes will be the same, a repetition of good intentions gone rancid.

Even then Mohinder will own his screw-ups as a badge of honour and a scarlet letter. Circumstances are always different he tells himself. On a dime lines can be redrawn, new alliances forged, new enemies named. He will not commit the exact same mistakes as Bennet because he cannot. There are so many other factors for Mohinder to take into account.

Quickening his steps he rests his eyes on the man standing in front of the Toyota, leaning against the hood. An unknown factor in an ongoing equation, Sylar has become this ever-present figure in Mohinder’s life. If Mohinder were to let his mind drift to that distant past he would recall the first time he actually gave thought to traveling with this man beyond the first handful of names on a list. That had all exploded in spectacular fashion, so much so that Mohinder never thought he would give serious consideration to traveling with him, working side-by-side so closely, ever again. Yet here he is—here they are—three years into a partnership that unofficially began in a life removed.

Once spellbinding intrigue then a frustrating nuisance, Sylar is still all of these things and more. All those millions of bits are so interconnected that Mohinder cannot single out the moment when Sylar’s definition, for lack of a better description, changed, so smoothly metamorphasized into the comfortably familiar.

Mohinder can still remember when Sylar was something far less palette-able, but with each trip, each drawn out day and endless night, shared space in close quarters, those packed away recollections seem far away.

At some unspecified point Sylar not only telekinetically stopping a barrage of bullets hurtling through space towards Molly’s body, frozen in fear, but throwing himself in front of her at the same time no longer seemed surprising. The movement from Sylar antagonistically looming in the corners of meetings between Peter, Matt and Mohinder to eventually participating more actively, arguing tactics, happened so naturally.

So did his arrangement of steps back to Mohinder’s side.

Unexpectedly it had been Peter who had tracked Sylar down and brought him somehow (Mohinder still had not managed to pry the full truth out) into the fold much to everyone’s skepticism and resigned agreement. For that first year Mohinder and Sylar had been like oil and water, separated by the room, refusing eye contact or at least looking away with a scowl when the other looked back.

Mohinder had held out the longest about working with him and Sylar had adamantly refused to make any effort that seemed pleading or put off by the dismissal. But it was difficult when they were the only two who not only understood the others viewpoint but engaged in debates of disagreement and came up with new, practical and workable plans that suited everyone.

Partnerships changed like musical chairs and while Peter and Sylar went on excursions together Mohinder could not be distracted by Matt’s stories during their own planned stakeouts. His thoughts always drifted to Sylar, angry and wondering they zipped along the synapses of his brain until he caught an annoyed and judging look from Matt amidst a sideways glance.

And then, somehow, it was Mohinder and Sylar on the same side of the room while Matt looked on suspiciously and Peter appeared unfazed with an expression of expectation.

_“He’s your constant,”_ Peter had offhandedly said on a rare night when it was only the two of them with the chance to speak openly and uncensored by the presence of others. Mohinder’s look of shock had elicited a sympathetic smile from Peter.

Explaining with only the most vague of understandings Peter had described a multitude of timeline tangents and parallel universes with a commonality that existed in each and every one. Whether on strictly opposite sides battling each other to the end or generally acquainted through mutual friends or work, whether the closest of confidantes or strangers passing by over and over again, there was always a them.

Mohinder found the revelation as difficult to process as Peter did to articulate the consistent discovery. In the simplest of understandings wherever Mohinder was Sylar turned up nearby in some context. Only once did Peter bring up the timeline in which Mohinder and Sylar were on undeniably intimate terms, a loving—in love—relationship, but the rise of Mohinder’s heated blush and Peter’s bashful tripping over the words relegated it to the category of “Best Left Unsaid.”

That Mohinder and Sylar are intertwined so fully that it crosses time and space is bewildering and compelling. The seed planted, there was no way of saying if it was the reason why, or some fatalistic coincidence that, when Sylar’s permanent death became a very real possibility Mohinder tried to negotiate a trade—Sylar’s life for Mohinder with his scientific research and capabilities. It had ended up being an unnecessary move but the gesture was so grand that they never spoke about it and Mohinder denied his urge for self-examination into why.

It had not been so one sided an unspoken realization either. The deeper into the fight with external foes and Mohinder’s lack of powers had caught up with him more than once. But Sylar, so strong at his side, had defiantly made sure the tables never got flipped over, ensuring Mohinder’s survival to fight another day.

Mohinder had learned that words only revealed half of whatever conversation was taking place between them. Actions, no matter how large or subtle, still cryptically shade in the rest. Sylar became a “matter of fact” when Mohinder was not looking and now with a clear sightline there is a profound awareness he keeps to himself.

Closing off the final distance to the car Mohinder notices Sylar talking tiredly into the cellphone he has propped up to his left ear while simultaneously regarding Mohinder with watchful eyes. Finishing the call Sylar lowers the phone and Mohinder casts a questioning look his way while gripping the car keys more firmly.

“Bennet,” Sylar replies nonchalantly and pushes off from the car. For a moment he breaks their stare and looks over Mohinder’s shoulder with unreadable eyes.

“The front desk guy has a crush on you,” Sylar says looking back at Mohinder.

Astounded by the remark and the factual tone with which Sylar delivers it Mohinder widens his eyes and halts his natural instinct to glance over his shoulder at the motel.

“Huh? What do—uh—,” Mohinder sputters, trying to organize a coherent thought to disguise his embarrassment.

“His heart beats erratically when you’re near him,” Sylar muses with smallest hint of amicable mockery.

Stopping a few feet from Sylar, Mohinder brushes off the suggestion with a self-deprecating, “I doubt it. I don’t make that kind of impact,” and turns towards the driver’s door.

“Sure you do,” Sylar softly utters under his breath but it is still loud enough for Mohinder to hear and he looks over his shoulder at Sylar who is gazing unfocused at the road.

Mohinder does not waste either of their time asking “What?” Even on the quiet side of spoken confessions Mohinder heard Sylar clearly enough and a repeat of the words will do nothing to clarify the meaning. As is usual there are many meanings that can be assigned from teasingly joking to unemotionally observational.

Then there is the one that he is finding harder to ignore, like Occam’s razor it is the simplest explanation and the first one that makes itself known to Mohinder whenever one of these situations arises. But he is not ready, if he ever will be, to address it and on the off chance that he is wrong he would dread Sylar’s callous reaction and belittling. Worse, it would make a once tense relationship revert to old ways and they have come too far, with far too much on the line, to walk that old ground.

_“Let the dead rest,”_ Bennet had counseled when Sylar was reintroduced by Peter into their battle plans. _“You can’t bring them—any of them—back so stop trying. Look forward.”_ Mohinder had charged Bennet with selfish disregard for anyone but his family. Yet in time he came to appreciate the pea-size bit of truth at the core of Bennet’s words.

Regarding Sylar currently lost in thought Mohinder decides to instead let Sylar’s words spiral about in the air between them, out in the open but without any encouragement that may make either of them uncomfortable.

“What did Bennet have to say?” Mohinder asks while keeping a professional tone in place.

His voice immediately refocuses Sylar’s attention and he snaps his eyes firmly on Mohinder’s. He does not answer right away rather he situates Mohinder in what feels like a contemplative gaze; holding something back but not out of frustration, out of it not being the right time instead.

Sylar moves towards Mohinder and says, “He’s got a name for us but he couldn’t say over the phone. He’ll contact us when we get to Vancouver.”

“Vancouver?” Mohinder asks with uncertainty since this information seems to suggest a last minute change in plans.

“It’ll be about a five hour drive,” Sylar answers and holds out his right hand, palm facing up.

Mohinder eyes it and then looks to Sylar expectantly.

“I’m driving,” Sylar states.

“Ah, no. I can drive just fine thank you,” Mohinder rebukes the order swiftly and turns his attention back to the car.

“You’re exhausted,” Sylar points out as Mohinder tries to stifle a yawn.

“I’m fine—,” Mohinder glances over with irritation and shoves the key into the lock.

“Look, I don’t want to have to worry about you falling asleep at the wheel and killing us both,” Sylar says preemptively sounding careless, settling into a mode of safe distance.

Mohinder’s defensive posturing strikes at Sylar a split second before the verbal defense hits.

“I’m perfectly capable of getting us to Vancouver safely,” Mohiner snaps. “Anyway I’m hardly the one who has put us in the line of fire on a consistent basis. Your repertoire, once astounding, is now starting to border on unoriginal.”

With an amused “hmmph,” Sylar steps to Mohinder until he can look down on him while placing his left hand over top Mohinder’s right hand that is still gripping the key in the lock.

“Don’t be so modest Mohinder,” Sylar counters steadily. “You’ve caused us plenty of trouble.”

Mohinder rolls his eyes and tries to look away but Sylar tilts his head forward and insistently holds Mohinder’s attention.

“Now, _I’m_ driving us to Vancouver and you’ll best make use of the time by resting up. You’re no good to me otherwise,” Sylar continues.

He hits all the right notes and even though Mohinder knows that part of this is a well crafted act he still finds himself responding as if Sylar is personally attacking him with malice and self-gain as his only guidepost motivations.

Mohinder is suddenly aware of the heightened sensation that Sylar’s hand over his own brings. Skin to skin, an indescribable heat flows on an electric currant between them. Sylar’s hand feels firm over his but there is gentleness to the touch that contradicts the tough words and detached persona. They stare at each other silently daring the next move and Mohinder unthinkingly shifts his hand ever so subtly on the key; Sylar’s hand follows the flow of the movement but he says nothing else.

Letting out a quiet sigh Mohinder snatches his hand away from the car, throwing Sylar’s off in the process, and steps back to walk around the car. He can feel Sylar’s eyes on him as he heads towards the front of the Toyota and senses its lingering state as he hears Sylar unlock the driver’s door and then click open the rest of the doors with the push of a button. As Mohinder makes his way along the front of the car he hears Sylar speak up.

“You can use the time to write to Molly.”

The words bring Mohinder to an abrupt stop, as much for the idea as for the honesty of the sentiment. He looks over at Sylar who is standing in the open door leaning over the top and appearing less combative.

“You write to her when I’m driving—you’ve been driving all week,” Sylar explains. “She’ll probably be expecting one from you.”

Mohinder is wholly unprepared for Sylar’s brazen understanding of the personal intricacies he has thought only apparent to himself.

Cutting off the personal moment abortively Sylar quickly adds, “I don’t need to hear her yapping over the phone that she thought you’d forgotten her or some inane conversation like that. I could do without the headache.”

Mohinder ponderingly restarts his walk to the passenger side, looking down at his hands. Opening the door he looks across the top of the car at Sylar, still standing with the door open but now partly turned around to glance at the road behind them.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Mohinder asks.

“I always know where I’m going,” Sylar replies and looks back to Mohinder with a small smile.

The smile says a lot of things and there are a handful of stock responses Mohinder could call upon in reaction. He could treat it as another part of the game, he could condescend or attack sarcastically; he could ignore it with an air of apathy. Instead Mohinder bypasses dissuasive responses and instinctively reacts with complete honesty.

He smiles right back.

**Author's Note:**

> Heroes Slash Awards (June 2008)  
> **Nominated for Best Mohinder Characterization** (WINNER)  
> **Nominated for Best Mohinder/Sylar (G-PG13)** (RUNNER UP)


End file.
